


terms of endearment

by Heavenward (PreludeInZ)



Series: Thunderbirds Prompts [21]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Advice, F/M, Jealousy, Pen and Ink, Pet Names, dialogue prompt, relationships, submersible, the way to a man's heart is through his thunderbird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 13:52:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7363945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PreludeInZ/pseuds/Heavenward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dialogue Prompt for Gordon/Penny: "Wait a minute. Are you jealous?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	terms of endearment

It hasn’t been this frosty in Thunderbird 2’s cockpit since the time Virgil crashed his ‘bird in Antarctica.

But he’s nowhere near the bottom of the world this time, and they’re definitely still airborne, it seems like the cause is _probably_ his passenger.

_This_ seems improbable because Lady Penelope is usually so charming. In fact, he’s pretty sure she was charming as recently as about ten minutes ago. The chilly silence from her side of the cockpit is relatively new.

Virgil’s carefully picking his way back through the course of the trip so far, trying to figure if it’s something he might’ve said or done since picking her up. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t done anything. Pretty sure that he’s doing her—and Gordon, by proxy—a favour, by giving her a lift out to the Cayman Islands, where Gordon’s volunteered his time with a local environmental research agency. He’ll be wrapping up by the time Virgil arrives to pick him up, and Penelope’s along as a surprise.

In fact, they’ve been listening to the comm chatter between Gordon and John for the past ten minutes, still in the midst of a salvage operation off of a particularly vulnerable coral reef. This has mostly been Gordon, talking to himself. Virgil’s just about to ask if there’s something the matter, when Penelope reaches over and flicks the radio off. And then, her tone positively  _glacial_ , “It’s so _very_ flattering to know that every pet name he’s given _me_ is coming secondhand from his damn _submarine._ ”

The list of responses that populate Virgil’s brain includes tactful rejoinders such as, “ _Technically it’s a submersible_ ” and “ _You mean he calls you sweetheart-sunshine-babydoll too?_ ” But Penelope has an expression that would draw unflattering colloquial comparisons from his Grandma, so he plays it safe and, more saliently, dumb. “Wait a minute. Are you jealous? Of  _TB4_?”

There’s a frosty huff of breath that lowers the temperature a whole degree, and Penelope’s answer is haughty, “Jealousy is a small, petty, _ugly_ emotion and not one that happens to _me_.”

“First time for everything,” Virgil remarks, though he’s careful to keep his tone light and uncritical and his eyes on the empty skies ahead. A shudder of minor turbulence rumbles through the body of Thunderbird Two, spares him from saying anything further as his hands steady on the controls.

“I am _certainly_ not jealous of his stupid ship.”

Technically, submersibles are referred to as “boats” and not “ships. This gets added to the list of things that Virgil knows better than to say. "No, of course not,” he answers instead and nods in sage agreement. He pauses a moment, and then offers, “If you _were_ though—not, of course, that you are—it’s not like it wouldn’t be kinda understandable.”

“It’s just… _baby_. And _darlin’_. And 'just through here, come on sweetheart, you know I _love_ you’.” There’s a soft sigh, maybe a note of rueful concession. “I suppose it’s a pilot thing,” Penelope hazards, and she’s folded her arms and might have settled in her seat to the degree that an uneducated eye would mistake her for slouching dejectedly—not that a lady slouches, so obviously an uneducated observer would be wrong about that.

“A little bit a pilot thing. Mostly a Gordon thing.” Virgil reaches overhead, fiddles with a few toggles and switches, and notes, “Oh, uh, and a Kayo thing. Uh, really kind of worse, with Kayo. Didn’t know about Kayo and the kinda filth she talks to Thunderbird Shadow. John’s still got her cockpit radio on a two-second delay and an automated censor.”

“Well, I’m glad to know it could be _worse_.”

Virgil shrugs, grins. “He’s never not gonna love that sub, Lady P. But I mean, c'mon. Gordon’s got a big heart. There’s room for both of you.”

“Is there? There’s precious little breathing room already, between his job and _my_ job—I do sometimes hate it, you know. That he loves what _he_ does just as much as I love what _I_ do. More, some days, I think.” Virgil's on the receiving end of another big, rather dramatic sigh, and maybe her irritation is masking something softer, a bit more vulnerable. “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel as though there’s something rather difficult about being just another 'something Gordon loves’.”

“ _Mmm_.” There’s probably some sort of social protocol for giving a lady unsolicited advice. There’s probably a subtle, sophisticated way to lead into telling someone like Penelope  _exactly_ what her problem is and what she should do about it. Virgil’s not familiar with it, if there is, so he goes barreling right ahead, regardless, with advice that’s blunt, down to earth, and practical, “All right. Well, if you want _my_ opinion…”

* * *

There are post-dive checks to go through, once TB4’s been docked with TB2 again. Systems need to be rechecked and rechecked—and technically, this is Gordon’s favourite part of any dive.

He knows his 'bird. _Loves_ his bird. But piloting it is one thing, and looking after it is quite another. He appreciates TB4 plenty from the inside, of course. They all know their ships backwards and forwards and inside out, but it’s always been Gordon’s opinion that since there’s less of TB4 to know, he knows his Thunderbird _best_. And it’s a hell of a machine, especially when you’re the one who gets to pilot it.

But from the _outside_. Standing in TB2’s hold, it’s hard not to just stand there for a minute and _ogle_ Thunderbird 4. The curve of the forward compartment, that precious little snub nose. The turbines at the back, and the way they flex out, extending, as he runs the hydraulics through their paces. Gives him the shivers in the best kinda way. He toggles them upward, downward, port and starboard, makes a note that, from the outside, the orientation on the port-side engine looks like it’s a little sluggish. He strolls around the back to take a closer look, can’t help an affectionate pat on TB4’s hull.

“So good today, gorgeous. _So good_. Pretty, pretty, _pretty_ baby. Just gotta get a look at the actuator here—”

He almost doesn’t notice the hydraulic hum of the lift down from the cockpit, only they’re ten minutes into the flight back home and he hadn’t heard the alert that goes along with Virgil, setting the auto-pilot. So. Concerning. He peeks out from behind TB4, wondering if maybe Alan tagged along for the ride.

The lift isn’t fast. Gordon’s given Virgil hell about it before, but the sight of a pair of strappy, summery pink heels changes his mind. In fact, the lift is perfectly, _beautifully_ slow, has the effect of a camera panning slowly up a pair of legs in a borrowed coverall, cuffed up at the bottom—deep, navy blue, one of his and not one of Virgil’s.

Somehow Penelope manages to make this look _fantastic_ , even though the thing is too big, slouchy and shapeless and wholly utilitarian.

Actually. Maybe that’s exactly why. 

“Penny! Hey, Penny, hi!” Gordon’s across the cargo hold in seconds, to hold out a hand and help her step daintily off the lift. He gets an affectionate peck on the cheek for his trouble, and her fingers squeeze his, brief and warm as she steps down onto the treaded metal floor. “Babe, watch your step down here, 'kay? But hi, though!”

She has that slight, perfect little smile, the one that shows in her eyes more than anywhere else, like when she’s being oh-so-completely restrained and that she’s not just as pleased as he is. “Hello, darling. Surprise!”

“Virg picked you up? Aw man, I gotta do the rest of my post-dive, I’m gonna be like another twenty minutes, but—” Gordon’s already trying to figure out if there’s anywhere in the hold where Penny can sit without getting covered in grease, and coming up empty. “Umm…If you want, I can—”

“Actually,” she says, and steps past him. Takes a slow, sidling stroll down the length of Thunderbird 4. Her fingertips reach out and trail along the curve of the hull. This is a fresh and intriguing combination of factors that have Gordon trying to remember if Penelope’s ever been in this kinda proximity to his 'bird before. Given the entirely new and novel way his heart’s started hammering in his ears, he’s pretty sure this is a first. And  _then_ , with those stormblue eyes glancing back over her shoulder, Penelope goes on, “—actually, I was thinking. She’s such a lovely craft, really, it occurred to me I’d never seen her up close. I was wondering if you might take me through the particulars?”

“Youwannatalkaboutmy _sub_.” It all comes out in one word, shot to the tip of his tongue by another lovestruck thud of his heart. “Well. Well, _yeah,_ Pen! Oh man! Okay okay okay. S'cuse me, lemme just…okay, I gotta open her up, just lemme squeeze by _…._ _Penny_. You’re the _best_. Okay!” Never mind _her_ watching her step, Gordon’s almost tripping over his scuba booties he’s so excited.

She catches his hand as he passes and there’s absolutely no help for it, Gordon’s got no choice but to sweep her into a hug, planting a kiss on her perfect pretty lips and grinning at the way she gasps and laughs as he lets her go. “Gordon, good heavens,” she chides, arch and teasing and artificially scandalized. “Not in front of the submersible.”


End file.
